The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1887-04-01
SELECT STORY.
wITOaORAFT.

lneTe Caule rluluS up 10 Tue lnn OF
one of the most struggling of Oxford.
shire villages well-mounted young
gentleman of somewhat distinguished
appearance. Calling to the ostler he
gave particular instructions a. to the
treatment of his horse, and, ordering
the best bed and supper the landlady
could provide, retired for time to his
room, desiring to be called when the
meal was ready.
In about an honr the supper was on
the table and the ST. anger sat down to it.
He had evidently come from a lis.
tance-the state of his horse showed
that--and the way he did justice to
the landlady's cookery proved that he
must have been remarkably hungry.
The good woman was in truth rather
alarmed at the rapidiLy with which he
disposed of what she set before him.
He was well built young fellow,
of about Is or 10, with broad brow
and strangely piercing eyes that St EN-
eo to follow her about the room, and
look through, her to the wall each time
she caught their gaze. For about half
an hour he was silent-too busy, in
fact, to speak--but he was pleasant
and likeable; aud when she left him to
himself the dame had taken rather a
fancy to him.
Had she known how he was situated
her thoughts might have gone another
road. For the distinguished stranger
was gentleman commoner of Oriel.
who, with his choice companions, had
been trying little amateur highway
robbery, aud falling to find a victim
had come on here alone without a
penny in his pocket, trusting to what
might turn up to furnish him with the
means of paying his bill.
As soon as be was alone be left the
table and took his chair to the fire.
He began to think over his position.
His thoughts were not encouraging.
He had been living what was wild
college life even in those wild days;
and his family had almost given him
up. His father, bencher of Gray S
Inn aud acountry magnate of influence,
was an eccentric man of strong will,
never known to go back on his word /;
and in his last letter he had given the
son clearly TO understand that his
patience was exhausted. As to money,
he had sent him enough for some time;
and as to "accomptS,' he would he re-
sponsible for none "after the date of
this my last letter, unless ye amend"
| He had not amended; he had gone
! further and failed.
No wonder then that his meditations
were unsatisfactory. He knew that he
was not fool-his experiences with
his fellow students ha taught him that
and fortunately on this occasion his
self conceit came to his rescue.
'My father and MOTHER" he SAID to
himself-st least he said years after
ward that he said to himself, for he
was not an unknown man--''my father
and mother are better gifted than those
they meet, and am very like them.
l have the old mans voice and my
mothers eyes. see things as quickly
as they do, and mind them as well.
And here l have been for two years
with the chance of getting what would
give me living If the old people were
to throw me over, and what have |
done.
What had he done, indeed? He
had acquired thin coat of university
varnish.
This is not work of imagination,
and we will not enlarge on the stud
ent's recognition of his folly. The con-
clusion he came to was the ordinary
one: "Iet me get out of this trouble
and will never get into another
But how was he to get ou. of this
troublea He could not help liking the
CHEEKY, brisk little woman whom he
had come-disguise it as he might
to swindle. lie had eaten his supper;
that did not trouble him so much, for
1t was obvious that If he was to be
honest he must live. But how was he
to pay for it The horse was not his;
to leave it would be to rob Peter to
pay Paul. He was in the same fix
with his clothes. The idea of doing a
little wrong to do great right, on the
Bassanio principle, occurred to him, and
was rejected.
"No; I'll be honest, and III be
thorough" he said; and, resolving to
be very good and very superior to
everything and every one he met, he
strode up and down the room.
"I'li go and see mine bosless,' SAID
he may be something will happen
TO me"
And something did happen which
played sad havoc with his good reso-
lutions.
Entering the kitchen, he found, seat
ed by tha fire, frail, weary looking
girl of Is whom the landlady intro
duced to him as her daughter.
"Sick of bad ague; waiting for the
fiji, which will come to her to night"
'Has she been thus for long9' asked
the student,
"a year this Michaelmas,' said the
landlady; "and never leeoh can cure
her. have tried them all the country
round, and paid them well, but there
sits the poor child, growing worse and
worse, and surely shaking into her
grave"
"What does her father say2 Is there
none in London that could tell you
what to do7'
"Her father, sir, has been dead these
three years. am poor widow, and
have spent all he left me in trying to
cure the child, but it is of no avail.
Poor Jess poor Jess !"
The stranger looked troubled-as
be was. To ride away from an inn
without paying his bill was bad enough,
hut to cheat poor widow in distress,
for whose sick child she had sacrificed
her means of living, was--well, the act
of sooundrel.
The Oxonian wished he had never
left Oriel he felt thoroughly ashamed
of himself. So genuine was his shame
that it might be thought he was fairly
ON the path of reformation and would
thenceforwatd keep 10 it. But it was
not so with him; and there are very
many like him.
He was all right until he took
' -. Al L. L